


returning the favor

by xerophyllum



Series: Kink Meme Fills [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crying, Fluff, Geralt's a little emotionally constipated but tries his absolute bestest, Hair Brushing, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Limited dialogue again because I'm a clown among men, M/M, Mildly historically accurate medieval hair washing!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 09:39:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerophyllum/pseuds/xerophyllum
Summary: An already awful week culminates in Jaskier covered in mud, crying, and with a broken lute in hand. Geralt pampers his bard to the best of his abilities.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Kink Meme Fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650670
Comments: 7
Kudos: 276





	returning the favor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TerraOfTheTeenTitans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerraOfTheTeenTitans/gifts).



> Another kink meme fill, significantly less messy than my first but also written past midnight on very little sleep. Unbeta'ed, still not with as much dialogue as I'd like, but I tried my damnedest I swear to god.
> 
> As usual, please enjoy!
> 
> \---
> 
> Prompt: https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=48813#cmt48813  
> We all know that baths are the running theme in this fandom, but it's always Jaskier taking care of Geralt. What if Jaskier has been suffering a series of diverse, upsetting situations until it all culminates with him falling in mud to save his lute. Maybe he was pushed? Maybe it suffers damage anyway? Of course, Jaskier is usually in high spirits, but enough is enough. He starts crying and Geralt just takes care of him, bathes him and spoils him. He's fumbling, but he enjoys doing it.

Jaskier loved hearing himself talk.

Geralt found that Jaskier was almost as enchanted with his own voice as the crowds he frequently charmed were, filling every possible second of sweet silence with his singing, or his mindless chatter, or, worst of all, his complaining.

And Jaskier _loved_ to complain, almost as much as he loved to perform; It delighted him far too much to push Geralt to his limits, jaw clenched as he finally gave in to Jaskier's demands for a warm bed or bath and led them towards the nearest inn. His bard fancied himself as delicate as his favorite flower, still accustomed to upper society and as frail as a maiden, as if he hadn't been traveling with Geralt for years by now and wasn't at least _somewhat_ hardened by the road.

That hardening did make his complaints more bearable, though, even if they still weren't exactly pleasant. Geralt knew that they were all just half-hearted things to draw reactions Geralt couldn't properly stifle which amused Jaskier, and the fact that he gave in to them so easily was just an added bonus. Jaskier, if he so pleased, could go almost as long as Geralt liked to go without stopping in an inn or setting up camp. He just very rarely pleased.

Which is why it was so unnerving that Jaskier hadn't complained in nearly a week.

He hadn't even sung much, and when he did, it was a soft accompaniment to a melancholic strum of his lute. He spoke in short, clipped sentences, and more often than not looked down at the ground darkly instead of commenting on the usually bland scenery of their travels like he usually did. 

Geralt had long since decided he much preferred being the one to brood, not the bard. 

He also very pointedly did not linger on the thought that this silence, which would have been considered a gift from the gods themselves years ago, had become almost unbearable within the first day of Jaskier's sudden muteness. He did _not_ miss Jaskier's singing or little anecdotes or, god forbid, his _whining_.

* * *

Jaskier's week just seemed to be getting worse and worse with every passing day.

Sure, Sunday was fine; They had been approaching a nearby town to rest for a few days at that point, and Jaskier had spent the entire day enjoying the warm sunlight upon his skin, expressing his delight at the thought of nicely scented bathing oils and pretty women, and putting together a rough plan for his performances, since they did need a way to pay for their rooms until Geralt found another contract. 

Monday was when it all went downhill, because of course it was.

They had arrived in the town that day, and Jaskier's joy had almost immediately left him. This town was particularly shabby, the women just as coarse and unwelcoming as the men, the taverns and inns stinking of piss and weak, awfully tasting ale. It irritated his senses horribly, and ending the day with a cold bath smelling of nothing and no one to hold in his arms irritated his emotions.

Tuesday, he was booed off stage for the first time since meeting the White Wolf, shouting at him about how the locals just had no appreciation for _real_ art and didn't deserve him, anyways. Geralt's hum in response got under his skin more than he'd like to admit that day.

Wednesday, he got robbed when Geralt had gone off to speak with the town's alderman in regards to a potential contract.

Thursday, someone spilled ale all over his favorite pair of baby blue trousers.

Friday, Jaskier was fit to breaking. They had left the town, thank god, but being away from it didn't exactly soothe his ego, return his coin purse, or remove the stain from his trousers, now did it?

* * *

They managed to travel in silence for a few days before anything went wrong.

Jaskier had seemed to perk up just slightly the further they were from the town, eventually playing a less melancholic tune and looking at Geralt instead of the road, making small talk in a poor imitation of his usual boisterous one-sided conversations.

This lapse of concentration, however, led to Jaskier tripping over a tree root before Geralt could warn him. His lute, the strap of which was not strung across his back for once, fell from his hands in surprise, and he quickly fell to his knees to save it. Unfortunately, this meant that he fell into a puddle of mud, almost surely irreparably staining his fair silken trousers and splashing up to stain the lower hems of his doublet and chemise as well. The way in which the lute fell meant that it wasn't completely spared, either, as Jaskier had never had the best reflexes; Two of the strings still broke, and Geralt thought he could spy a slight dent in the wood.

For a second, Jaskier just kneeled in the puddle of mud, and Geralt was worried that he'd somehow managed to do something as stupid as sprain his ankle while going down or something similarly idiotic, as Jaskier was prone to do.

The quiet sniffles, however, were what had Geralt stiffening and jumping off of Roach. He awkwardly extending his hand to his crying bard, who took it in the hand not holding his broken lute and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. He only started crying harder when he saw the state of his clothes, and Geralt, for once, felt truly lost on what to do.

He'd never exactly been the most emotionally in-tune, after all; Witchers were taught to shun all emotions, as they only weakened you during fights and made you more susceptible to an early death, and Yennefer hadn't exactly been a blushing maiden in need of gentle care and constant comfort.

So, he floundered. He stared for a moment at his bard, covered in mud and with tears streaming down his pinked face, until he remembered what said bard had always done for him whenever he'd return to their room in less-than-stellar condition; Jaskier, a clear fan of the finer things life had to offer, loved to pamper just as much as he loved to _be_ pampered. He loved bathing Geralt, singing him soft songs as he washed his hair and rubbed oils and creams into his skin that smelled almost as sweet as his voice sounded. He loved braiding pretty flowers into his hair, even if Geralt always grumbled about looking like a little girl after he did, and he loved the sweet treats offered in most marketplaces.

Mind made up, Geralt mounted Roach with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat, and headed on to the next town.

* * *

Jaskier, although he wasn't exactly proud of breaking down in front of his cool, collected, _stoic_ travel companion like a child with a broken toy, couldn't help but cry harder at the sight of Geralt abandoning him so easily, so unbothered by the tears of his usually joyous companion.

He had allowed himself to indulge in the hope that Geralt may ask if he was alright after helping him to his feet, maybe even grant him a hug or a reassurance, and Jaskier couldn't help but feel his heart shrivel at the realization that Geralt wouldn't even waste such small gifts on Jaskier, his hope dying. 

Regardless, he followed after Geralt and Roach, trying his best to calm his sniffles and hiccups, lest Geralt shout at him for the sudden uptick in noise.

_He hadn't even offered to let him ride Roach._

* * *

Upon reaching the next town, one only slightly less shabby than the last but with significantly friendlier locals, Geralt went straight to the first inn he saw and gruffly demanded a room and a warm bath.

He could see Jaskier, somewhat soothed (or at least not in hysterics) but still dirty and smelling of distress, perk up slightly at the mention of bathing, though he did his best to keep this sudden interest subtle.

Remembering Jaskier's love of strong-smelling perfumes and bathing salts, he requested those as well, before gripping Jaskier's free hand as gently as he could and pulling him up the stairs to their room.

"I'm sorry." 

Jaskier said eventually, his usually warm voice hoarse from crying himself raw and quiet with shame. Geralt felt his own heart wrench, just a bit, at that, but merely grunted a, "What? Shut up." in reply.

Jaskier responded only with an unsure look in his direction, looking every bit a child swimming in the deep end of a lake for the first time. Thankfully, Geralt didn't have much time to debate on how to navigate that look, as three barmaids came in bearing the tub of warm water and the scents that Geralt had requested.

He gave an appreciative hum as they set them down and left, then fixing his unimpressed gaze of Jaskier, frozen in the center of the room.

"Get in or else the water will get cold."

Jaskier still seemed a bit unsure, but did as told, beginning to undress. Geralt busied himself with the oils and salts while he did; They were comfortable enough around each other by now to undress without having the other turn away, but Geralt figured that Jaskier already felt scrutinized enough by him right now, and he wanted to make him feel better, not worse.

When Jaskier did get in the strongly-scented bath, a sigh of pleasure being heaved almost without his control, Geralt gathered up his stained clothes in his arms. "I'll have the laundry maid look at these," he said, "and if she can't fix them, I'll just buy you more from the market. They may not be as extravagant, but they'll do until we can get to a proper city. I'll bring your lute, too." 

His voice, though as grumbly as it usually was, was also softer than usual; He was a bit embarrassed, though not ashamed, to be so _soft_ in front of his bard, fretting like some mother hen, and it was still a bit difficult for him to be so open and talkative. And if the concern ~~and love~~ he felt for Jaskier played a part in it, he didn't feel the need to acknowledge it.

"Wait." Jaskier murmured, looking imploringly at Geralt from his bath. "Stay?"

Jaskier had never before sounded that unsure when speaking to Geralt, and the witcher could feel something painful twist in his chest at the realization. Dropping the stained clothes, he gave a short nod before returning to Jaskier's side, unsure of what exactly he wanted him to do. Keep watch?

"Take off your clothes, you big oaf." He eventually mumbled, eyes closed as he enjoyed the heat of the bath's water, soothing the tenseness that the week had brought to his muscles. 

"Excuse me?"

"Like you said earlier, my dearest witcher. Get in before the water gets cold."

This, too, was not uncommon for the pair; They often bathed together when coin was sparse, just as they often slept in the same bed. Geralt wasn't quite sure how to navigate the feelings that Jaskier's request, made out of genuine desire to share intimate comforts with Geralt as opposed to necessity, stirred in his chest, so he simply did as told and undressed, getting in the bath across from the bard.

"Come here, I'll wash your hair." Geralt offered, voice stiff but not uncomfortable. At that, Jaskier spared him a soft little smile, moving to settle across his chest as opposed to the wooden brim of the tub.

"You are a man after my own heart, my dear." He sighed as the witcher poured the herbed water over his hair, hand placed at his hairline so as to prevent the water from getting into his eyes. The bard all but melted into him, giving a pleased little hum as Geralt repeated the process until the scent of dirt clinging to his hair was replaced with the more pleasant scent vetch. 

When Geralt found him to be appropriately pleasant-smelling, he helped him out of the bath and toweled him off gently, patting the water off of his hair as Jaskier had taught him to instead of rubbing it until dry. Jaskier smiled fondly at Geralt's remembrance of his little habit, and easily allowed himself to be manhandled into one of Geralt's cleaner shirts, even if it did still smell slightly of sweat and horse.

He allowed himself to be led and pushed onto the room's bed as well, watching with curious eyes as Geralt dug out the comb from his pack and sprinkled a pre-mixed powder of various flowers and spices onto it, sprinkling some directly onto Jaskier's head as well. Dipping the brush in their bath water, he began to brush through Jaskier's hair, gentle as ever as he made sure no more less-than-pleasant scents lingered.

Jaskier almost felt his eyes tear up again at the gentle treatment, though he contained himself, not wanting to seem overly emotional in a non-theatrical way. "Geralt," He spoke softly, afraid to break this comforting bubble that had formed around the both of them by speaking too much. At Geralt's responding hum, he said a simple, "Thank you. Truly. For all of this." rendered dumb by the witcher's unusual display of affection.

"Although I suppose it wouldn't exactly do you any good to have a depressed bard on your hands. After all, nobody wants to listen to mourning songs when the ale is flowing and the girls are beautiful." He chuckled, though it was a humorless little sound, one which bade Geralt stop his movements briefly.

"You really are stupid, bard. You're lucky that you're pretty."

"What? Are you really trying to tell me people _would_ like mourning songs to play while charming their wife to be? Come on, Geralt, you know I'm not _actually_ that stupid. I know my audience!"

"That doesn't mean you aren't stupid, Jaskier. Do you really think I give a damn about you just because you bring in coin the one time a month we visit taverns?"

"Are you saying you don't care about the coin I bring in? Damn you, witcher, I work hard for it! And here I am, slaving away so we can enjoy these nice rooms and meals of anything other than hare and doe and you don't even care! Do you know how many beautiful doublets I could've bought by now?!"

"Jaskier, shut _up_." Even as Geralt growled out the words, he couldn't help but admit that he was glad to have his friend's playful bickering filling the empty space between them again.

"Jaskier. You're my friend. Regardless of if you bring in coin or not."

At that, Jaskier turned around to face him, sat up on his knees so that he was eye level with the taller witcher.

"Ohoho! The big bad witcher finally admits that he _does_ have friends! It only took you _two decades_ , you damn brute!"

With one last growl of the bard's name, Geralt leaned in, silencing the man with a kiss instead of his usual ineffective scolding. Jaskier stiffened in his arms initially, but relaxed into the kiss soon enough, throwing his arms around Geralt's neck and crawling into his lap so eagerly Geralt had to place a hand behind himself to ensure he wouldn't fall back.

"Wow, that was..." Jaskier murmured, awed, when they finally broke apart, momentarily silent as he thought of some endearingly silly metaphor to liken their first kiss to.

It was then that Geralt decided Jaskier's silence might not be so bad _all_ the time.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: 1997chuus


End file.
